His Scarlet Love

Tuesday, January 1, 2013

These past few days I was at a conference in Indianapolis with Cru, the Christian group I'm part of on campus. In all honesty, the night before the conference I was 99% sure I wasn't going anymore. I had had a rough week and was so overwhelmed that all I wanted to do was to rest.

But I went. And I can safely say that I have no regrets.

Now I'm not saying that the conference was all kicks and giggles. It was rough, and I was a hot mess the whole time. Things I thought I had dealt with two years ago, that had crept back into my life this past summer in Detroit, were this time thrown so plainly in my face that I had no choice but to deal with them plain and square.

One night in particular, during the evening talk, I found myself leaving the meeting early--the meeting was about following Jesus where He leads, and I wasn't quite in the mood to listen to a spiel on surrendering my rights to a God who I wasn't too pleased with at the moment. I was about halfway to the elevator (to return to my room) when a friend suddenly popped up beside me, apparently having followed me after seeing me leave. We found ourselves in the prayer room, and before I knew it, my perfect composure became a drenched, melting puddle on the floor. My walls came crashing down, and my anger with God skyrocketed.

Sometimes I think we forget the simplest truths that make Christianity what it is. Like how, because Jesus died for us, His Spirit comes to rest in us when we accept Him as our Savior. It's so easy for me to forget this when I'm going through trials. I'm so quick to get angry at God and demand why He has left me to deal with everything on my own. But if Jesus' Spirit is truly inside of me, then this is also true: that everything I experience, He experiences. Evey tear I cry, He cries. Every rejection, hurt, and adversity I experience, He experiences. And every time I think God has left me, I'm wrong: "When you believed, you were marked in him with a seal, the promised Holy Spirit" -Ephesians 1:13. Note how I bolded and underlined that--sealed. That means it's a done deal. He never leaves us.

Now, I'm not a huge fan of New Year's resolutions (mostly because I lack self-motivation about two weeks in) but this year I think I have a pretty worthwhile resolution, and that's believing that God is good in every trial and every joy. I will choose to cling to this truth as I enter into the new year. And all I have left to say is, bring it on! I've got something worth fighting for, and His Spirit lives inside of me.

Saturday, December 8, 2012

I recently became a friendship partner through my county's Children's Services volunteer program. I was paired with a sweet, but rather sassy :) ten-year-old girl about a month ago who absolutely loves to go skating. So naturally, when the program hosted its annual roller skating party, we were one of the the first to RSVP. Not only did me and my friend manage to not fall the entire night, but I had a fun time watching all of the other children with their volunteers having a great time.

But one little boy in particular caught my eye that night. He looked about 8, had blond hair, a baggy t-shirt and jeans, and a rather focused facial expression that portrayed nothing but pure contentment. No matter how hard this boy tried, he could not stay upright in his skates. I have never seen anyone so uncoordinated! The more he tripped and dived, the more I smiled. And before I knew it, I was being my overly emotional self and had tears in my eyes, realizing that I had so much love for this little boy I had never even met.

And you know what, I think that's exactly how God sees us. As we're slipping and sliding and barely able to stand, he's looking down on us, smiling, filled with so much love that He is brimming with delight.

I think it's really easy for me to forget this fact as I go about my typical week. There are so many times when I just want to scream--"I'm trying Lord, I'm really trying!" When in reality I eventually end up throwing in the towel, defeated. Sure, it's easy to lie to myself, to tell myself that I'm "trying." But to lie to my Creator? The one being who literally knows everything about me. Who am I kidding?

Trying is not something I can do by my effort alone. When I'm trying to pull energy out of nothing, it only makes sense that I eventually call it quits. But rather, I'm learning how to be filled with the love God has for me, the joy He has in me (His creation!) even when I'm face-planting in the skating rink. It's only after I allow God's truth and promises to fill me, that I can truly try and succeed. Because then, and only then, am I giving out of a satisfied spirit rather than an empty one.

God honors my effort, but I also believe He has great empathy for me as I try to make it even one lap around the rink on empty fuel. Every time I fall, He's smiling saying trust in me, experience my love, we can do this together.

It never ceases to amaze me how God can use one little boy's clumsiness to teach me so much about Him.

Sunday, November 18, 2012

Sometimes it's hard to view
God's character as constant when our anger toward him seems to pile up like old
laundry. It's smelly, and we know it will be time consuming to sort through and
clean. And sometimes, you find an old sock in the process, and you begin desperately
searching for its completing pair, only to end up throwing it in the bottom of
your sock drawer, leaving it forgotten.

But I think God knows that the
last thing we want to do is deal with Him when the going gets tough. He knows
it’s easier for us to ignore Him until we’re down to our very last pair of
underwear. Then, and only then, are we forced to deal with the situation at
hand. It becomes a state of urgency.

This past summer, I went on a
mission trip to Detroit, MI. Over the course of the project, I was overwhelmed
with sin I had been ignoring for the past 2 years of my life, and even more
overwhelmed by the brokenness that I hadn't quite sorted through regarding my
past. All of the students on the project were given a book, Mercy Streets, to read as a means of
preparation for doing ministry in the city.Mercy Streets followed author
Taylor Evans through the streets of New York City as he desperately tried to discover
beauty amongst city life. In my own adventure in the city of Detroit, I was
confronted with more homelessness, boarded buildings, and overall crime than I
had witnessed in any other city I had lived in or visited. It was easy for the
Enemy to take hold and try to show me that there was no hope for the city’s
future, that beauty was simply non-existent in the city, and that the Enemy himself
had won over. But in the midst of all of this, one quote from Evans’ book seemed
to pop out at me—“disaster will trigger sorrow from other grief in a person’s
life…” (p.108).

Naturally, experiencing any
sort of traumatic event will resuscitate the same emotions that a
past traumatic experience originally produced. The anxiety disorder I developed
during my 5 weeks in Detroit was not a result of the brokenness I witnessed in
the city. Rather, it was a result of God finally showing me that my smelly
laundry was blocking my only way forward.

Bring on the detergent.

These past 5 months have been a
roller coaster ride of emotions, filled with drama-queen anger toward God and
bitterness toward the corruption I witness while driving through the streets of
Columbus. And no, although I have screamed and even cussed God out on occasion,
that doesn't mean that I haven't latched on to the truths that have so kindly
been shoved down my throat a time or two—God is GOOD and He is faithful, He is
a REFUGE, and He loves me more than I could ever possibly fathom. Faith is not a feeling. My anger toward
God does not define who He is. Rather, my anger defines how much closer I am to
sorting through that last piece of smelly clothing in the towering pile of
laundry that sits as a barrier between me and God. And when it comes down that
last, single garment, I know that I will finally understand what true intimacy
with God really is.

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

Building, it escalates
steadily persisting up and over
encrusted deep beneath the shielded surface.
Minuscule speckles sprinkle the caked dirt
hollowed caves carved into the deficientsurface.
Deeply engraved, harassing all happiness.
Until It pours out, scattering infinite fractures
as crystalline droplets fall in frayed fragments
striking the marbled coldness, the surrounding shadow prevails.
Until the beams gather and extend
radiant against the stark contrast.
Until it embraces.
encompassing all dejection.
Until He comes home
and gathers Hid lambs into his cradling arms.

Thursday, May 3, 2012

I grew up going to church and
learning all about God’s love for me; but my faith was a once a week, one hour event
constricted exclusively within the context of a church.

When I was 12 years old, I
started crying myself to sleep every night. Throughout junior high, my feelings
of unhappiness worsened, and I began to have crying spells with no explanation
as to why I was upset. I started having repetitive thoughts, thinking about how
no one would miss me if I were to die—on my worst days I thought no one would even
notice. My mind was in constant battle mode, teetering between society’s view
of typical teenage emotions and how I measured in comparison. I was in denial. Surely
it was just the hormones kicking in?

But high school wasn’t easy. I continued
to struggle with loneliness, and my sophomore year I was diagnosed with chronic
migraines—by junior year I was getting headaches every day.

Through all of this, God wasn’t
doing what I wanted Him to be doing in my life. So I shoved Him to the back
burner, choosing to pay no attention to a God who I thought wasn’t paying any
attention to me. I was selfish, and unhappy. I began to deny God’s existence and
completely disregard the friendship we had once shared.

I came to Ohio State in a very
fragile, hesitant state.My sister was
involved with Real Life (a Christian organization) on campus, so I started
going—mostly for her. Fall quarter of that year, I became a queen at going
through the motions. I attended bible study and Real Life every week, and even
started skimming through the bible on occasion. I was searching for something,
but I didn’t know what.

Then, a wonderful acquaintance
(who I can now call a great friend!) shared with me what it meant for God to be
on the throne in my life—what it meant to put complete trust in Him and
surrender my life to His good, pleasing, and perfect will. Shortly after this I
found myself at Fall Retreat, where I continued to hear even more about God’s
grace, understanding, and complete and utterly beautiful love.

A week later, I gave my life to
Christ—surrounded by the beautiful scenery of a dormitory bathroom. I yelled at
God, telling him I was angry for all the pain He had made me suffer, for all of
the years my heart had been filled with grief. But I told Him I trusted Him.
That I was giving myself completely over to Him because He died for my
brokenness and sin before I was even born. And through His death I am made
perfect in God’s eyes.

Over the past year and a half,
Jesus has continued to knock my socks off.Through the power of prayer, God has blessed me with the happiness that
I never even imagined existed.He has
healed broken relationships from my past and filled the void in my heart that I
had been burdened with for 7 years.

My life is by no means perfect; I
still sin and feel broken and hurt from time to time. But knowing that there
was once a man who walked this earth that came specifically for ME and suffered
and died specifically for MY sins is the greatest comfort in the world! I am so
thankful and proud to call Jesus my Friend, my Healer and Savior, My God.